


free pizza for life

by ectozommer



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: College AU kinda, M/M, also they all have different last names obviously, not really a song fic but based off a song (if that makes sense), they're not sides in this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:41:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26978272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ectozommer/pseuds/ectozommer
Summary: It all started at a motel.
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders
Kudos: 18





	free pizza for life

Remus is tired. Remus is really fucking tired, actually, so tired he can hardly keep his eyes open. But he’s been on the road for some time now, and he needs to be far enough away that the cops won’t track him down, so he pries his eyes open and keeps on driving. In hindsight, he should’ve planned this out more. But he’s always been a man of impulse, and he’s pretty sure if he had to stay there for one more minute his head would explode or some shit. If he hadn’t taken his dad’s car, they probably wouldn’t even notice he’d left. Maybe Roman would. But that’s a strong maybe. Either way, he’s on the interstate and Oregon is only a two day’s drive from Florida. He can manage that. Sleep out of his car for a night and stop at McDonald’s for something off the dollar menu. Then he’ll make it out to Bend and meet up with Uncle Darius who will, optimistically, let him stay at his motel for a while. Yeah. Okay. This is fine. 

Except it isn’t really fine, is it? Because he has a grand total of twenty-two dollars to his name, a small dufflebag of clothes, an unconfirmed living situation he’s banking on, and a half full tank of gas. In his dad’s car. Which he stole. And he has about six-ish hours before his parents wake up for work and realize the fucking car is gone, and it won’t be hard to put together the rest. The thing is, he can’t really find it in him to care all that much, so instead he just cranks the volume on his stereo, rolls down the window, and sticks his head out to scream. The car behind him honks, but that’s whatever. He just speeds up. If his parents want to act like Roman is their only kid, fine. Roman can be their only kid.

The drive isn’t so bad, in the end. He pulls over on backroads a couple times for naps and one full night of sleep, and does in fact stop at McDonald’s for a burger (twice). Oregon is cold as shit this time of year, apparently, and he wishes he’d brought something thicker than a hoodie. But the rain and overwhelming greenery is a well deserved change of pace, so there’s a silver lining, he guesses. He uses google maps to find the motel, but the blinking neon sign is so huge he probably could’ve done it without directions. He would’ve called his uncle in advance if he’d had his number, but Darius has been the black sheep of the family for as long as Remus can remember, and he and Roman weren’t allowed to stay in touch once he took off. So it’s kind of shitty to just show up at his front door asking for a free place to stay. Especially when Darius probably doesn’t even know what he looks like, considering the last time they saw each other he was ten and had just shittily shaved his own head into a mohawk with his dad’s beard trimmer. 

He throws open the motel office door, drenched from the short walk in the rain from his car, and just sort of...stands there in front of the desk, waiting for Darius to recognize him and sweep him up into a hug, or some shit like that. His uncle hardly spares him a passing glance and just gestures to the open sign-in book on the desk he has his feet propped up on. Right. Guess he’s just gotta come right out with it, then. “What, you don’t recognize me?”

He looks up after a moment, scans him up and down, and shrugs. “...Should I?”

“I’m pretty unforgettable. Plus, y’know, I’m your nephew, so unless you’re prematurely senile...” He grins and twirls around a couple times, gesturing up and down. “Remus! Oswald! The little ankle biter with the front teeth knocked out!”

Darius still doesn’t sweep him into a hug. He just looks up and blinks a few times, squints and gets a good hard look at him. “Oh. Uh, yeah. Guess you are. How bout that.” A brief, uncomfortable silence. “They kick you out?”   
  
He scoffs. “Like I’d let em if they tried. I left.”

“Huh. Didn’t think it would take you this long.” He shifts to shut the sign-in book and leans against his desk, patting the top of it for Remus to come perch on. “Now how’d you get out here?”

“Took the car. Hotwired it. It’s been a couple days, but no one’s blown up my phone yet. Not even my usual thousands of dms, because well. Look at me.” He drums his fingers on the edge of the desk while his feet swing and kick out. “Probably think some rando stole it. I don’t come out of my room anyway, so they might not know I’m gone yet. Or don’t care, I guess.”

“Nah. They’d want their car back.” He says, and Remus laughs harder than he has in a while. “...Your hair’s long.”

“Yeah, didn’t keep the mohawk from eight years ago. Good eye.” It’s this greasy and untamed semi-mullet that’s been bleached to a crisp by this point. Poor head’s been so many colors he’s lost count at this point. It’s neon green, at the moment. For however long that lasts.

“Right. So you need a room, I’m guessing?” Darius turns and tugs down the first key on the rack, presumably the closest room to the office. 

“Depends. I don’t have any money at the moment, so. Give me some time to like. Sell my body...Or work drive-thru for Burger King. Dunno yet.” Remus slumps back against the wall while Darius grabs his coat and hat hanging on a hook behind him. 

“You stay as long as you like. Just keep out of trouble, get yourself a job.” He pauses for a moment. “Out of the two, go with Burger King.”

Remus nods sagely and follows his uncle outside and to the nearest room, walking under a metal awning that shields him from the now thundering rain. Darius unlocks it and leads him inside, setting the key on a dresser near the door. “Right. So, no pets. No smoking in the room. I might ask for your help with the place every now and then, just running the office while I go to the store or something. There’s extra towels, shampoo, soap, all that, in the back room of the office, I’ll make you a copy of the key. And, uh. I’m up at the house if you need anything.” 

“Cool.” Remus flops back onto the bed, not really listening until Darius walks over and sets a hand on his shoulder.

“It’s good to see you, kid.”

He’s pretty sure no one’s ever been happy to see him, so it takes him a moment to register what’s being said to him. And then he does what he always does. He fucks it up. “Y’know, one time I ate a whole stick of Old Spice deodorant. It was pretty good.”

Darius stares at him incredulously for a moment, and then barks out a laugh and pats his shoulder. “Alright then! Well, how bout you get some rest.” Then he’s left to his own devices, so he absently scrolls on his phone for a bit (awful service, he’ll have to ask his uncle for the wi-fi password) and promptly passes the fuck out. 

He’s thankful Darius had evidently drawn the curtains at some point last night, because it allowed him to sleep in to an ungodly hour. He rolls over and checks his phone and whaddya know. Thirty-three missed calls and fifty-four unread texts. He smiles to himself and shuts his phone down.

\----

“Blow out the candles, Virge!”

He huffs n bites back a smile, flips his hair out of his face. “It’s not my birthday.”

“Well, there’s cake. So close enough!” Patton is grinning and filming him on his phone camera, holding up a proud thumbs up while Virgil sighs and begrudgingly blows out the candles. “Woo! Wow, who'da thunk it! Off to college already-”

“It’s not a big deal or anything-”

“It is absolutely a big deal! I’m proud of you, kiddo!”

“You’re only like two years older than me.”

Patton frowns and sets his phone down to sit beside him. “You okay, buddy?”

“Yeah. Fine.” Patton gives him a disapproving look, and he sighs and relents. “It’s just a lot of pressure.”

“C’mon, you got this! Gonna blow those other kids outta the water, I know it!” He grins and pats Virgil’s cheek. “You’re  _ so  _ talented. You deserve this, okay?”

Virgil hesitates before he nods, but it earns a smile anyway.

“Good. Now let’s get you some cake, yeah?” Patton pulls out the candles and sets them aside on a napkin before he cuts Virgil a slice. It’s chocolate raspberry, and the  _ Congrats Virgil!  _ is divided to “il!” and a decorative flower on his piece. “Seems like just yesterday I was showing this tiny little freshman to his fourth period…”   
  


“Mhm, old man.” Virgil smirks and nudges him with his shoulder, to which Patton laughs and fixes his glasses. “Hope you know I’m putting you in a home when I go to school.”

Patton swats his hand as Virgil raises a fork to his mouth. “Hey! Respect your elders!”

He laughs and takes a bite of the cake, which is startlingly good, and the rest of the slice is gone rather quickly. Patton takes his time with his, and makes little noises of appreciation every now and then, like every bite is his first. “Where’d you get this?”   
  


“Friend of a friend works at a bakery! Pretty good, huh?” 

Virgil nods and hums his approval. They make small talk over another slice of cake each, mostly just Patton squealing about how excited he is for him. And Virgil should be excited. He knows that. This is what he’s been working up to for years. And yet. Something coils in his stomach and festers there, constantly reminding him that he doesn’t deserve an opportunity like this. Scholarships should go to people with real talent. Sure, Patton says he’s earned it, but Patton thinks Virgil hung the stars. He doubts he could ever do wrong in his eyes. And he still hasn’t told Patton about The Issue.

He’s pretty sure Patton thinks the ratty, moth-bitten hoodies are a stylistic choice, and the cheap makeup and unkempt hair are all part of the aesthetic. But Virgil’s future is kinda hanging on this scholarship, because his family hardly has a dime to their name, and he’s the first of any of them to actually go to college. And he chose fucking film school, because of course he did, so he’s probably just going to be a starving artist in more debt than he started out in. He can’t afford on campus lodging either, which means he’ll have to find an apartment he can maintain rent for, and a stable job. He couldn’t possibly ask Patton for anything more than he’s already done for him, so he’ll be stuck couch surfing on Craigslist for at least the duration of his first semester and-

“Woah, hey there, deep breaths!” Patton has a firm hand on his back, looking at him with such concern that it makes Virgil feel a little ashamed. “Where’d you go?”

“‘M here. It’s fine.” He takes a deep, shuddering breath and wipes away the red in his eyes, leaving smudged eyeliner on his fingers. He yanks his hoodie over his head and tightens it, hoping to block everything out. 

“Want your earbuds?”

“Mhm.”

Patton rifles through Virgil’s messenger bag, sat on the floor, and pulls out his tangled earbuds and old ipod touch. He untangles them for him, and plugs it in while he cues up Virgil’s comfort playlist and passes it over. He seems content enough to finish his slice of cake with one hand rubbing circles on Virgil’s back until he can breathe right again. This isn’t a new occurrence, and Patton usually knows how to handle it well enough. It wasn’t one of his harsh, angry stimming fits where all he knew to do was yell at Patton to go away, and he wasn’t completely non-verbal either. This is the middle ground that comes up most often, where touch is comforting instead of repellant and he’s somewhat easy to calm down. 

After a few minutes of comfortable silence, Patton clears his throat. “You wanna tell me what’s on your mind?”

“It’s nothing. Just tired and a little stressed out. I’ll live.” He mutters, eased enough to loosen his hood, but not enough to take it off. Patton nods and gently tugs him into a hug, which he gladly sinks into. He isn’t sure how long they stay like that, but it’s long enough for Patton’s phone to start ringing, and he jumps a little. 

“Sorry! One second.” He answers it, and after a minute or so of “mhm”s and “sure thing”s, he hangs up. “I gotta go to work kiddo, something came up and I gotta take Jenna’s shift. You gonna be okay?”

“Yeah.” 

“...Alright. Well, you text me if you need anything at all, got it?” He presses the plastic lid back onto the remnants of the cake and pats the top of it when he’s done, collecting his bag while he’s at it.

“Okay.” 

“Love you!”

“Yep.” He watches Patton shut the door behind him, and Virgil figures that’s his cue to leave. He knows his friend wouldn’t mind if he stayed a little longer, took a nap on his couch or something, but he still frets about overstaying his welcome so he grabs the cake, digs through the plants at the front door for the hide-a-key rock, and locks up. 

He spends the next hour looking for ads for roommates or spare futons, but comes up pretty bone dry of anything that seems reasonable or trustworthy. So...motel it is. Just for a few nights, until he can hop to the next one or work up the courage to ask Patton if he can crash on his couch for a bit. His regular shifts at the craft store down the street should be enough to sustain it for a while, but he’ll have to eat cheap. Which is fine. Most motels have vending machines, and that’ll do just fine. After a bit of searching and a break to stare at the ceiling and evaluate his life choices, he settles on  _ Oswald’s Interstate Overnight,  _ which is both the cheapest and closest to his school. Yeah. Okay. This is fine.

Except it isn’t, is it?


End file.
